


a sacrifice to feel.

by alekszova



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Hate Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, i was told to write this and i dont think either of them actually thought i would
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 09:29:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18363266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekszova/pseuds/alekszova
Summary: Connor and Gavin break up. Gavin uses Markus to feel better. Or worse. It's unclear.





	a sacrifice to feel.

Gavin doesn’t know how he got here. He was arguing with Connor, saying things he felt but worded too harshly. He shouldn’t have been surprised when Connor finally snapped and said he was done. _I can’t do this anymore._ Handle his insecurities and his problems. He was throwing him aside and Gavin deserved it. Constantly asking if he had feelings for Markus. Making sly jokes. Of course it was going to end between the two of them. It was inevitability—even if Connor didn’t care for someone else. Eventually he was going to realize how cruel and broken Gavin was and leave him behind. Better to be alone than to ever be with Gavin Reed.

But he doesn’t know how he got _here._

He was angry. Too angry to cry and too angry to want to let himself break that finally fracture that he could barely keep together. So he drove. Drove here, tossing his motorcycle helmet behind him and not even caring where it landed. Pushing the door open, pushing Markus, yelling.

Yelling because even if it’s all Gavin’s fault maybe he could have had Connor for a little bit longer if he didn’t exist. Yelling because maybe if Markus wasn’t his friend, Connor wouldn’t have realized how much of a better choice he was. _Anything_ is a better choice than _Gavin Reed._

Gavin Reed is wrong. Wrong and twisted and too broken to be in a relationship but too in love to listen to that part of his head and now Connor’s made the choice for him. Left him alone and wounded and pissed off.

And still—

He doesn’t know how he got _here._

Kissing Markus with a need and frustration that makes his inside ache for a multitude of reasons. How much he’d rather have Connor, comparing himself to how Markus kisses back, biting and rough and he thinks he tastes a little bit of blood in his mouth. This is what Connor would have instead. This is what Connor wants instead.

He’s pressed back against the wall and when Markus starts to ease up, when the kiss stops being quite so violent, it makes him angry all over again. He doesn’t want to be treated with tenderness. He doesn’t want someone to be gentle with him. He wants someone to ruin him. Match his outsides to his insides.

And make it different than Connor.

They might’ve been rough with each other but it wouldn’t be like this. Connor wouldn’t bite his lip this hard, he wouldn’t press his hands that heavy into his side. He wouldn’t leave a mark, and if he did, he would apologize and kiss at it like it would make it go away, like it would take away a fraction of the pain it caused. Caring for him like he was broken.

And he liked that. He liked someone that could spend hours leaving gentle kisses against his body, telling him he was worthy of someone. Someone to care for him, someone to love him, someone that wouldn’t use him for sex. Someone that wouldn’t be so reckless and uncaring that he would spend the next morning in the shower looking at purple and blue marks on his body and pretending they were pretty instead of a sign that something was a little wrong with what he did before.

There’s a difference—

A difference between someone caring and someone using.

 ~~He wants to be used right now.~~ He wants to use someone.

It’s funny that it’s Markus. Almost. There is a little bit of a laugh stuck in the back of his throat, suffocated instead by the gasps against Markus’ lips, tugging at his sweater, pulling at the yarn, wishing he could dig his fingers into it and unravel it. A mirror image of him. Falling apart when someone’s holding onto him this tight.

This means nothing.

But it means too much, too.

This is someone that Connor likes.

Maybe if—

Markus pulls away suddenly, and there is red on his lip like a girl kissed him, like lipstick instead of blood. It is too abrupt for Gavin to try and stop him.

And they stare at each other for a moment and every word in his head is gone.

Of course he gets why Connor likes him. He’s attractive. Blue and green eyes. Mismatched and yet perfectly complimentary. A beauty in his features that isn’t part ragged and beaten down. Higher up. Not broken.

God-like.

What is Gavin in comparison?

_Nothing._

Neither of them say anything. Markus takes a step backwards, hands releasing from where they held onto him, but the pain lingering on his side, matching the one on his lip where Markus bit him, matching the one on the back of his head where it connected with a heavy force, matching the one in his stupid fucking pitiful heart.

He could leave. They could pretend this never happened.

But a kiss is different than sex, isn’t it? Sex can be a mistake, sex can be with someone somebody doesn’t care about. Used, tossed aside. Something he’s familiar with. A kiss is different.

It means more.

This meant nothing. He knows that. He has no feelings but—

_Hate?_

Hate towards Markus. Hate that he looks like this, hate that he’s a better person, hates who he is in the world of androids. Higher status. Wanted.

God-like.

What is Gavin in comparison?

_Nothing._

He wants to be treated as such. He wants Markus treated as such. Nothing but a body to fuck.

And this—

This is someone that Connor likes.

Maybe if he fucks him, Connor won’t care about him anymore. He certainly won’t care about Gavin anymore, but if he can ruin Markus—

At least Connor will be left with nothing, too.

So when he takes a step forward, Markus seems to understand what he wants. A small nod and the two of them are walking up the staircase together, Gavin trailing behind, not looking back.

When they reach the bedroom, Markus kisses him again, but it’s too light and too soft and it annoys him and he breaks it off quickly, pushing him against the mattress, straddling him, hands on his face like he can’t decide whether or not he should snap his neck or strangle him.

“You’ll regret this,” Markus says quietly, but even as he says the words, even as they are laced with a little bit of a warning, his hands are on Gavin’s waist, moving upwards, pushing the jacket off his shoulders.

“I regret a lot of things,” he replies.

And he does.

He regrets everything he’s ever done. Every little bit of good and every little bit of bad. He regrets being born. He regrets falling in love. He regrets making a single friend. He regrets his existence. He just wants to feel like nothing for a little while. He just wants to feel a little bit of pain that he thinks he deserves.

Both of them.

Markus for taking Connor away. Gavin for being who he is.

His jacket falls to the floor and it’s too slow. It’s too much, watching Markus pull his clothes off. Gently, piece by piece. He doesn’t say anything when he’s shirtless, when his hands move across old scars. There’s a look on his face that is too similar to Connor’s when he saw them. Less pitiful and less concerned but still there, still questioning, still wondering.

Are you okay?

No.

And he won’t be. He never will be.

And he doesn’t have time for this.

Gavin pulls at the hem of his sweater, dropping it behind them, his hands coming to his neck, holding on tight, pressing deep as though Markus could be human and he could leave bruises in return. He kisses him again with the same need as before, stays there until Markus starts to return it, starts to realize that he wants to be hurt.

He hates him.

Gavin hates him.

He fucking hates him but it doesn’t stop him from letting Markus turn him and push him against the mattress beneath him. It doesn’t stop him from letting Markus undo his belt while pressing bites and kissing against his neck and shoulder. Not enough to bruise, not enough to bleed. He needs more. Maybe Markus is the wrong person for this. Maybe he should have found a stranger that wasn’t afraid of it.

But he didn’t come here to fuck Markus he just came here to yell at him for having the audacity to be a good person.

His jeans are yanked from his body, his clothing falling off to the floor piece by piece until he realizes he is naked in a bed underneath Markus and his hands are moving across his skin in a way that he hasn’t felt in two years. Two years of having it just be Connor, having them trace over scars late at night, having them press against his chest to steady himself when Connor would spend lazy mornings riding him, having them touch the tattoos like he wanted to memorize each and every swirl and line of them.

He’s lost in a train of thought, somewhere else entirely where he used to be happy, when Markus’ mouth is on him, biting his thighs, always biting, never hard enough, never leaving enough of a mark. It isn’t going to be worth it if he doesn’t have physical reminders of this tomorrow, is it? He needs them. He needs the wounds like he needed the scars on his body. He needs them to remind him of everything he deserves.

_God._

He looks down towards Markus again, watches as his hand wraps around him, as his mouth slips over the head of his cock and he wants to cry and he hates that he wants to cry. He thinks he hates Connor. He thinks being with Markus right now, watching his head move up and down and thinking about how good it feels and how much better it probably is than any of the times he’s done this to Connor and thinking of all the times Connor sat eagerly between his legs—

He thinks he hates him. He thinks Connor has ruined him. Provided him with too much, infecting every part of his life. The DPD. His apartment. Coffee and the cats and the fucking world. Anything. Everything.

Gavin reaches forward, pushes Markus’ head down further and further until it feels more like Connor when his eyes are closed. How far he’d go down, like it was something he had to do. Prove to Gavin over and over again that even if he was just an android he could match the life Gavin had.

He never told him it wasn’t what he wanted. A life like Gavin’s, filled with nights of rough sex, bad sex, any type he can think of, isn’t something to strive to. That it didn’t matter if Connor was inexperienced it could still be good and enjoyable. He didn’t need nights of Connor acting like a pornstar to please him. He’d rather have nights where Connor held him and left those kisses on the top of his head and told him he loved him.

Maybe that’s all he wants right now. Truly wants. Just someone to hold him and tell him they love him and mean it and he’ll know they meant it.

But he can’t.

So he pushes it as opposite as he can. Markus instead, mouth leaving him before he can properly get off to the feel of it, saliva and spit and a little bit of a breathless pant. _Fuck._ He hates how attractive Markus is. He doesn’t want to see the appeal in him. He doesn’t want to see what Connor sees. He wants to be closed off. He wants to be nothing.

He wanted to be the only person that Connor wanted and he already knew that was an unworthy and impossible goal.

“Turn over.”

He does. He can feel his arms shaking, like he’s already been spent, turning over and barely being able to hold himself up. Listening to the sound of a belt, a zipper, clothes dropping to the floor.

Then Markus’ fingers, touching him, opening him up, cold and slick and making his stomach twist and flip, eyes squeezing tight. He’s falling apart. Every second of this he is falling apart more and more.

It hurts when Markus presses into him and he doesn’t care. His arms are too weak to hold him up, hands shaking with an anxiety he doesn’t know what to deal with, falling against the mattress, pleading for Markus to go faster, deeper, harder.

A hand touches his stomach, pulling him up, lifting him so he’s flush against Markus back, his voice quiet and soft in his ear.

“You want me to hurt you?” he asks quietly.

_Yes, yes, yes._

But he can’t say it out loud. He can barely manage a nod and when he feels Markus’ lips against his neck, pressing too gentle of kisses, he wants to scream. His other hand moves to his throat, wrapping around it, pressing against it.

“More,” he whispers.

_More._

Leave bruises there so people wonder if someone tried to kill him. Make it violent. Make it wrong. Make it terrible and sickening.

The hand hesitates there, “Does Connor do this to you?”

He feels himself move against Markus, a tiny gasp tumbling from him before he can stop it.

“No,” he says quietly. “He doesn’t.”

And he prefers it that way. The roughness between the two of them not so violent. Never something he’d associate with people who hurt him in more ways than once. He doesn’t fucking care what he associates with Markus. He already hates him. There’s no going back.

“Of course not.”

He waits for more. Waits for the insults that would be thrown at Connor. How soft he is, how fragile he is, how everyone sees him as nothing more than a naïve and innocent child who could never find himself torturing Gavin for three hours, always leaving him on the edge, never letting him fully finish.

Markus doesn’t say anything.

He just lets go of Gavin, pushes him flat against the mattress, a hand on the back of his neck like he’s smothering him against the blankets and the sheets.

He starts slow again, builds up quickly until Gavin’s having trouble breathing, inhales not coming in quick enough to catch up to the moans and the pleads that are falling away.

_Hurt me, hurt me, hurt me._

Markus does. The hand on his hip tight enough that Gavin knows there will be bruises that he’ll hate tomorrow. A hand on the back of his neck threatening to suffocate him. Thrusts too hard and too fast for him to full comprehend as much of anything.

He’s left untouched. Maybe the pain balancing out the pleasure enough that he doesn’t cum even when it feels like he should. Left on that edge again, not quite falling, not quite jumping. The place that Connor likes him to be, the place he needed to be.

Markus slows to a stop, pulls out of him and he can feel himself whining and annoyed, Markus turning him over angrily and for a moment he thinks he’s going to slap him. Feel a hard hand against his face.

“Why is this what you want?”

So he doesn’t cry. Using pain to keep the tears at bay. It was always what he was good at.

He doesn’t owe Markus an answer. He doesn’t owe Markus anything. Markus owes _him._

Gavin reaches forward and hits him. A slap against his cheek. Not as hard as he wanted to. Not enough to make his hand hurt from the pain of it. Not enough to make any type of pain land on Markus. Not as much as either of them should have.

“Stop fucking talking. Just fuck me.”

Something crosses Markus’ face, a mix of annoyance and more that stupid false concern. But his hand moves to Gavin’s throat again, presses down against it hard. His eyes close, feels Markus’ hand loosen for a second as the other slides down the side of his body in a slow movement, like he’s trying to comfort him.

He doesn’t. Want. Comfort.

He wants to be hurt.

Markus presses into him again. The same pain, the same pleasure. A battlefield of it, guilt weighing in, tearing him down. _This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong—_

It’s not Connor’s name on his lips when he cums, shuddering and weak and still feeling Markus inside of him, still moving, making his entire body feel raw and unwelcome. A release that lets the floodgates go, tears springing to his eyes despite the fact he fights them with every fiber of his being.

Markus doesn’t last much longer than he does, his fingers moving from his throat to the mattress, collapsing on the bed beside him. They’re both breathless. Gavin trying to control his, trying to turn it normal, trying to do everything in his power to stop them.

He’s not going to cry. And he’s certainly not going to cry in front of Markus.

He sits up, feels Markus touching him, like he’s trying to coax him back to the bed, as if they’re a couple, as if they’d ever be a couple, as if even the possibility of them being one could ever result in the two of them having sex like this and then cuddling after.

He doesn’t want to be touched.

He doesn’t want this.

“Gavin?”

“I have to go,” he says, his body feeling disgusting and sweaty and vile. He needs to leave. He needs to shower. He needs to sit under scorching hot water until he feels like at least some part of him has been cleansed.

He moves from the bed, finding his clothes on the ground, pulling his phone from the pocket in his jeans as a text rings in.

From Connor.

Reading simple:

_I’m sorry._

So is he.

**Author's Note:**

> i refused to edit this.


End file.
